Still fucked up

I’ve been working on deconstructing a brick wall for about 3 years now, bit by bit and brick by brick. The rubble is on the floor by my feet, there are various tools strewn around my feet, broken from the abuse against the brick, mingled with the blood from my own hands worked raw in desperation to get the wall down and done.

I am confronted with a paper, an autobiography, asking what my childhood was like and why I would like to be a teacher. After 3 years I try to look over the wall to see what really happened on the other side and find that I can only see the tree tops, barely. I understand what parts of the wall I already took down, I know you have to take apart a wall from the top down, but it still feels like a blow to the stomach to see that all of that work, all of that rubble, all of that blood, sweat, and the tears don’t help in the slightest way with what’s in front of you.